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Then, in a blink, I grew tired of fighting what my heart wanted. Grew tired of denying myself. And little by little, I opened up to her and to myself. I let myself feel,really feel, for the first time in years. And it was… sensational.
Shellyis sensational.
If not for this incredible woman, I wouldn’t know happiness. I wouldn’t know love. Wouldn’t wake each day with a smile on my face and warmth wrapped around my heart. Damn, am I lucky. And I will never take Shelly or our love for granted.
I turn and see the tears ready to spill down her cheeks. Hormones aside, she would have cried at the level of love gifted today. Wrapping her hand in mine, I give a gentle squeeze. The tears brimming her eyes make the gold flecks sparkle brilliantly against her twilight irises and we stare wordlessly at each other.I know, I mouth.
The road of our relationship has been bumpy. Between my initial resistance and the sporadic roadblocks, it felt like we were driving the wrong way at every turn. That something bigger than us was intervening and steering us toward a dead end.
We didn’t let them win, though. We never will. Our love is too strong.
“Alright, party people. Time for the good stuff,” Cora shouts.
Autumn switches the music and an upbeat tempo fills the room. Gavin, Jonas and my father grab boxes and start hauling them to the nursery. I fill my arms and follow in their wake. By the time we have all the gifts moved, Autumn, Cora, Peyton and Penny are organizing something at the dining room table. Elizabeth and Nicole laugh at the display, and nervous energy floods my veins.
I don’t know much about baby showers except for food and gifts. Shelly tried to warn me about the games.“Some of them are just gross,”she’d said. Time to pull up my big boy pants and do this. Enjoy the moment and suffer through the grossness with a smile on my face.
More than an hour later, we wrap up the last of the games.Halle-freaking-lujah.
Changing “dirty” diapers on baby dolls. Tootsie Rolls and soft fudge will never exist in my life again. Ever. Bobbing for pacifiers sounded like fun at first. Lies. All lies. Blindfolded while tasting baby food. This one wasn’t as horrendous as I expected. I blame it on the organic jarred foods that were purchased.
Those were the more outlandish games. The rest I enjoyed.
Everyone was given a piece of stock paper along with pencils and crayons and asked to draw a picture for the baby. Didn’t need to be pretty. Just something to look back on years later and smile over.
Next, we were all given two index cards. On one, we were asked to write names for a girl and on the other, names for a boy. Shelly and I had briefly scoured the internet for baby names, but nothing had stuck yet. This game was the perfect way to come up with fresh ideas.
The last game—although not really a game—everyone was given a small card, blank on the inside. We were tasked with writing a note or letter to the baby. Nothing specific. Whatever was in our heart.
And when I put pen to paper and slowly wrote a letter to my unborn child, I couldn’t hold back the tears. I didn’t sob, but the tears came and I let them flow freely as I wrote. One drop, then another, splattered on the card, but I didn’t wipe them away. I left them right where they were. Exactly where they belonged.
“We’ll help clean up and get out of your hair,” Gavin tells me and Shelly.
“You don’t need to,” Shelly offers. “We can clean up.”
Cora sidles up the Gavin. “Uh, no you won’t. You just sit there and watch. Tell me what leftovers you want and which we should divvy.”
“Fine,” Shelly grumbles.
When Dr. Webster first put Shelly on light activities only, she protested with every breath she took. But as her health became more of a risk to the baby, she conceded. Although she grumbles still, I know she doesn’t mind the help.
With each passing day, the circles beneath her eyes grow a touch darker. Her belly more round and body more uncomfortable. Her willingness to give up tasks she once argued to do on her own has grown tenfold. Her grumbles are more for show now.
We wave everyone off as they leave and go back inside to a quieter yet fuller house. But not as full as it will be in the next eight to ten weeks. Before long, our house will be filled with more love than imaginable. It will be chaotic in the beginning, but beautiful chaos. The thought thrills and terrifies me equally.
My inner pessimist says it is too good to be true. My inner pessimist says nothing this wonderful ever lasts.
I do my damnedest to shove that negative beast down. To smother it with all the good. To suffocate it with love. To extinguish its existence.
Maybe it is time to up my visits with Dr. Prince. Maybe it is time I ask Shelly to come with me.
TWENTY-THREE
SHELLY
I stareat the beige walls, lightly decorated with colorful framed art prints, and wonder how many secrets have bled into the drywall.
Spilling my past or how I feel doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I have nothing to hide.
